


infinitum

by quitethesardonic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabble-like in nature, Eventual Romance, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, alternative universe, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-10 22:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quitethesardonic/pseuds/quitethesardonic
Summary: He thought himself above the gods, for even the gods were bound to love, and he was not. He was bound to his ambition for power. One day, a rude witch steals his favorite nook in the library. He thinks he's found his equal, but he thinks he wants to kill her, too. He also thinks he begins to understand why the gods waged wars in the name love.





	1. Chapter 1

On the first day of the sixth years' Potions class, Professor Horace Slughorn had all of the students line up in the front of the classroom to smell the love potion, _amortentia_. Each student was asked to describe what different scents wafted up to their nose, a bright blush staining their cheeks as they giggled and pondered on what the scents meant.

When it came to be Tom Marvolo Riddle's turn, all of the students within the classroom peered at the handsome wizard excitedly, wondering what their mysterious peer would smell.

To Tom Marvolo Riddle's pleasant surprise, he did not smell a single thing.

When he proclaimed so, Professor Slughorn looked at him with confusion painted across his features before prompting the young wizard to try once more.

"Another try, then, m'boy!"

And so, Tom Marvolo Riddle leaned in again and inhaled deeply, a lovely smirk stretching his full lips. He smelled absolutely nothing.

Professor Slughorn chose not to comment, offering the young prodigy an uneasy smile instead before beginning the day's lesson.

Despite the professor's unease, Tom found the discovery monumental. This discovery, that he was not attracted to anything, that he _didn't have a weakness_, was an indication of how powerful Tom was as a wizard. If anything, Tom speculated that it was because he only loved power and ambition, and those did not have a scent to them which was why he didn't smell a thing.

This was a confirmation that he was meant for unprecedented greatness in the world.

Even the gods were not immune to the frivolities of love, and Tom was - Tom was greater than the gods themselves.

His smirk turned into a rare, self-satisfied smile as Tom decided that the Fates were on his side, and the name Lord Voldemort would one day be known everywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time he met her, she was taking his space.

She was sitting in his hidden nook in the library with her textbooks strewn all over his preferred table. His grey eyes cut across her petite form, and he took in her wild hair as she bent over her work. Tom cleared his throat politely and watched curiously as she glanced at him briefly before returning to her studies.

Tom's teeth grounded together in annoyance.

Tom breathed in deeply and allowed it to slowly deflate from him, cooling the flare of temper.

"Miss," he began courteously. "I apologize for interrupting your studies, however, I am afraid that this is _my _study table."

Tom gave her his perfected, boyish grin, expecting her to react in the same manner as most of the female population in the school, but alas, she simply placed her quill down to look at him. Her head turned slowly as she scanned the wide berth of space in the area before she looked him up and down and rolled her amber eyes.

"My apologies, however, I don't see your name written anywhere, Mister . . ."

Tom swallowed.

"Riddle. Tom Riddle," he responded through clenched teeth.

"Right. Mister Riddle." She flashed him a brief smile. "Now, unless you personally bought this table and brought it here, and you have rented out this nook, I don't think you have any claims to this area. You are welcome, however, to join me if you would like. There is plenty of room for the two of us."

Her response was dripping with condescension as she waved her hand in an arc, indicating the rest of the empty space.

Before he could respond, she picked her quill back up and returned to her work.

Her rude behavior threw him off, and he clenched his jaw in frustration. Tom could not remember the last time someone had spoken to him in such a manner, and it was consternating to him, to say the least. People either feared him too much or respected him too much to treat him so callously.

His hand twitched as he toyed with the idea of making her feel the former since she seemed to lack the latter.

He decided against taking any action of the sort as he didn't want any unnecessary attention on him. He didn't need anyone tracking his movements as he searched for the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom smiled tightly as he joined the witch at _his_ table, unwilling to let her chase him away from _his _space. He took out his schoolwork out and began to work diligently.

Hours seemed to pass as the pair studied their respective subjects, and Tom almost forgot about the entire ordeal until -

"You translated those runes incorrectly," came an amiable voice.

Tom glanced sharply at the witch, his temper flaring, once again, at her comment.

"Pardon?"

She leaned over before reaching her small hand across the table to point at a rune on his parchment.

"That one right there only has a slight curve to it, signifying the guardian of the mother, not the protector. The protector of the mother has a more pronounced curve, almost looking like the letter U. It's quite easy to confuse the two, really."

He stared at the rune that she was pointing at and found that, irritatingly, she was correct. His jaw tightened at his mistake and at being caught making one by _her_. He looked up and was sure that the glare he gave her could burn holes into her skull. She was oblivious as she gathered her items to pack up. Still placing her books in her bag, the witch continued.

"These runes are tricky. You'll need to take your time translating them to avoid making any mistakes. I find that reading them aloud helps me. I also make flashcards and quiz myself on the runes periodically to memorize them better. You know, I could help you with your Ancient Runes homework in the future if you'd like. I've had nothing less than Outstanding marks for all of my assignments, and it's my favorite course."

As she finished putting her last textbook in her bag and began donning her school robes, Tom schooled his features to something more pleasant than the death glare he had been giving her. She faced him when she finished and gave him a bright smile.

"My name's Hermione, by the way, Hermione Granger. I hope you don't mind too much as I do plan on continuing to use this nook. It's quiet here and no one can disturb me, unlike those Gryffindors that don't seem to be taking their studies seriously. All they do is gossip out there."

She gestured to the more populated areas with her chin.

Tom flicked his eyes at the Ravenclaw insignia on her robes as she hefted her bag onto her shoulder and walked around the table.

"We got off on the wrong foot earlier, but you seem to be okay. I've been watching you work and you take your studies seriously. I appreciate that in a person. I'm sorry about being rude to you earlier."

She flashed him another smile before her wand began vibrating obnoxiously. A quick _Tempus_ charm informed her of the time and her eyes widened in mild alarm before she bade him a quick farewell and rushed out of the private area.

Tom sat in his seat in slight confusion at the interaction, wracking his head in an attempt to figure out who the offending witch was. He came up short and realized that this was the first time he had ever seen the witch, which was odd as he was certain that he knew of all of the Ravenclaws from the fifth year and up.

Tom shook his head, deciding that he should not deign another second to the witch, and returned his studies, but not without making a faint note to himself that perhaps he should determine just who this witch was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my alternate universe. This entire piece is from Tom's POV so there will be holes as he is re-telling it based off of what he knows.


	3. Chapter 3

The second time Tom met her, she was stealing his spotlight.

It was odd, really, that after that initial and haphazard meeting in his hidden nook, Tom had not seen her again. That was, until the Masquerade Ball that Professor Slughorn hosted for All Hallow's Eve for the Slug Club, except for momentary glimpses during mealtimes and class changes.

Perhaps, he did not worry as much as he should have because he was far too focused on finding out where the Chamber was located. He was so close, and he could not afford any distractions at that time.

Tom was fitted in the finest, sleek robes that the Malfoy money could afford him and wore an elegant mask of black and gold. He engaged in polite conversation with the witches and wizards that Professor Slughorn introduced him to and made an effort to be more charming than he knew he usually was. The people that mingled in the crowd this evening were the ones who operated the wizarding world and eventually, he would need them to establish himself.

"Ah yes, Mister Rowle! Have you met Tom, yet? The boy's top of his class and —"

Tom's distaste for his professor grew, and he briefly narrowed his eyes in displeasure at the patronizing manner in which he was referred to. He was not just a mere boy.

Professor Slughorn continued to babble about his academic record and when he finally finished, Tom shook Mister Rowle's hand firmly. The three of them were discussing the twelve uses of dragon's blood but were stopped short when the older wizard exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh, my!"

He clapped his hands cheerily and beckoned at the figure at the entrance. Tom turned his head to see who had excited his professor so and found that it was the same annoying witch that took his study nook.

All of the information that he had Abraxas pull about her came rushing forward as she walked confidently across the room to them. In truth, Tom had found absolutely nothing useful to him about the witch named Hermione Granger except that she was a seventh-year transfer and if she had attended Hogwarts for her entire school career, she would probably be the current Head Girl.

"Hermione, m'dear!" said Professor Slughorn. "You look positively lovely."

Hermione offered the older man a kind smile.

Tom observed how the white dress robe that she wore clung to her body like liquid silver before pooling gracefully at her feet, her toes peeking out from underneath the robe. It seemed to shimmer and twinkled under the blue hue provided by the faerie lights. Her lips were painted the color of blood, and her face was framed by a simple, white lace mask. Her wild hair had been tamed and tumbled down her back in soft waves.

Lovely, indeed, Tom silently agreed.

Turning to the Rowle patriarch, Professor Slughorn began introducing her.

"Hermione, here, is new to Hogwarts, despite it being her final year. Moved from the States, you see. Grindelwald returned to New York City again for some reason and made her parents nervous, so they sent her here. Miss Granger is one of the brightest witches I have ever met and could probably give Tom here a run for his money with how intelligent she is!"

Tom knew it was petulant but he silently fumed as his professor continued to shower the witch with compliments. She blushed prettily at the praises given to her, and Rowle was ignoring him in favor of staring at her as if he had never seen a witch before.

It was infuriating. He was the prodigy. He was the Heir of Slytherin! Albeit, no one knew the latter except for his Knights of Walpurgis, but Tom was still indignant about the attention she was receiving.

Tom's grey eyes were brewing a storm as he bore holes into the witch's head, and he hated her.

His attention drifted as he pacified himself with the myriad of ways that he could take out his violence and frustration. Before he understood what was happening, however, his professor had pushed the witch into his arms and motioned for them to prepare for a waltz.

His jaw ticked because of how tightly he was clenching it. He lightly gripped her waist with one hand and grasped her smaller hand with his other one. He felt her gently place her free hand on his shoulder.

He never realized how small the witch was until then. Despite her heels, she reached right under his chin. As the quartet began, Tom led her across the dance floor, refusing to look at her.

She spoke first.

"Professor Slughorn seems rather fond of you."

"Yes."

"It was a statement, not a question."

Tom scoffed. "And I was just stating my agreement."

Silence.

Hermione tried again.

"How are you doing in Ancient Runes? Have you made any more mistakes?"

Tom bristled at her question, peering down his nose to find her smiling mischievously at him.

"No. My translations are perfect, but thank you for your concern."

"I've taken to studying in the mornings if you've wondered where I disappeared off to. I like to rise early, and it seemed better to have the space to myself since you seemed so put out the last time we met in the library."

He glanced at her and said haughtily, "I didn't wonder at all. I was glad you were out of my way."

Hermione huffed in annoyance at his response.

"You know, for all that talk about you, you don't quite live up to your reputation."

Tom looked down at her and raised his eyebrows. Hermione continued.

"The way my Housemates and half the school talks about you, you're supposed to be this caricature of perfection, politeness, and mystery. Merlin knows that almost all of the witches in this school wouldn't mind becoming Mrs. Riddle. But I think you're aloof and arrogant." Her eyes flicked up and down his body before her hand briefly pressed against his masked face. He recoiled at the unexpected coolness and watched her smile at him.

"Handsome, yes, but there's no such thing as perfection, Mister Riddle, and I believe I see your flaws."

Tom wondered where this tiny witch got all of her audacity from, and he wanted desperately to rid her of this idea that she could act how she pleased around him. People did not just simply speak to him like this or even touch him. He was Lord Voldemort! As the music changed, however, Tom took in a deep breath, ignoring her and her observations in favor of smoothly transitioning them into a foxtrot.

He cleared his throat.

"You know, Miss Granger, you are a mystery as well."

She had been staring at something across the room, and at his statement, she snapped her head at him, her amber eyes guarded. The light scent of peonies invaded his senses, not quite unpleasant, as her gaze settled into his own. He wished he had perfected legilimency at that moment as they stared at each other.

Her dark eyes, he regarded, were speckled with flakes of gold as she appraised him with sharp intelligence. His own eyes flicked to her perfectly painted lips that had stretched uneasily before settling into a demure smile.

"Is that so, Mister Riddle?"

"Yes, I hope you don't mind, but I had some people look into you, and they found absolutely nothing at all. You seem to be a ghost. Not even my Muggle contacts could give me information."

He watched as she processed the words that left his mouth, noting that the room seemed to flare with an unfamiliar magical energy. It quickly encompassed the room before retreating, as if someone had snapped shut the lid to a box. Tom would have thought that he had imagined the feeling if it weren't for several other witches and wizards fluttering all at once, moving their heads as if searching for the source.

He couldn't help but notice as well that the energy felt just as strong as his, and his hand gripped her waist tighter than perhaps appropriate as he realized this.

"Who are you?" he asked, sharply. She briefly tensed beneath his hands before relaxing.

"I am Hermione Granger. Have you already forgotten? And I thought you didn't wonder about me at all. Looks like you're a liar, too, Mister Riddle if you're looking into me and my past."

She smiled prettily at him as she feigned ignorance. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the quartet finished their song, and she bade him farewell before turning and disappearing into the mass of people.

The faint scent of her perfume lingered around him and the parts of him that she touched was considerably cooler than the rest of him.


	4. Chapter 4

The third time he met her was the night of his seventeenth birthday where she had, yet again, taken something from him.

This time it was one of his few sanctuaries from the rest of the student body.

He had headed to the Astronomy Tower, as he has always done on the night of his birthday every year since his first year, and found her lying underneath the open sky. Her honey locks were splayed around her like a chaotic halo. The full moon had bathed her in its white light and she seemed almost ethereal – a fallen star among the world of mere mortals.

If it weren't for the steady rise and fall of her chest, she could have passed for dead with how still she laid. As he watched her, he wondered how easy it would be to push her off the tower. It would be a simple shove, really, and she was so small that he was certain it would be like pushing open a heavy door. She could be his first Horcrux and with what Professor Slughorn had told him the other night, the first of many. She was a mysterious anomaly in his equation, and therefore, should be eliminated. After the Masquerade Ball, Tom came to the logical conclusion that she must have been the source of that powerful magical energy.

Before he could decide on whether or not he should push her, Hermione sat up and stretched, distracting him from his musings.

"Didn't your mother teach you to not stare at a lady? It's rude."

Without missing a beat, Tom responded, "she died before she could teach me anything. And I'm certain you're not a lady."

Hermione hummed, nonchalantly. She didn't offer her condolences but said instead, "I may not be a lady, but it's rude to stare, nonetheless, Mister Riddle."

She looked over her shoulder at him for the first time that night and gestured at the empty space beside her. Tom scowled at her for the action, as if he needed an invitation to sit somewhere that was already his.

He took a seat anyway.

A rather comfortable silence fell between the two of them as Hermione laid back down and stared at the night sky. Hours seemed to pass as the two of them stared into the universe.

Tom broke the silence first.

"You can call me Tom," he offered cordially.

She turned her head to look at him, and her gaze seemed to pierce through him before she responded.

"Hermione." A small smile flitted briefly across her face.

"Hermione." Tom tested the name on his tongue and marveled at how wonderful it felt. "As in Hermione, the daughter of Menelaus and Helen?"

"_Gods, _no. That Hermione was something akin to a mess, don't you think? No, my mother was a Shakespeare fanatic and named me after the Queen of Sicily in _The Winter's Tale_."

"Doesn't the queen have a rather tragic story?" Tom asked curiously. "Her husband nearly destroys their family with his jealousy."

"You know Shakespeare? Most wizards know almost nothing about the population that shares this space with them," she commented in mild annoyance with a delicate sniff. "But yes, her story is tragic; however, she survives in the end, and that's what my mother wanted for me if nothing else, for me to survive a cruel world."

Silence befell them again as a more solemn mood followed her statement.

"What brings you here on this fine night?" She asked him after a while.

"Tradition."

"Really? In anticipation of the New Year?"

He decided to be poetic because it had been a good day for him, and seventeen years ago, the world was blessed with his presence.

"No, the universe shifted seventeen years ago to accommodate a strong and powerful presence."

Hermione looked at him oddly before she took on an incredulous expression. "_Merlin,_ Tom, are you talking about yourself? Wait," she paused briefly as she furrowed her brow in mild confusion. "You're only seventeen? You're practically a child!"

Her response wasn't quite what he wanted, and he glared at her as she laughed heartily, her frame shaking with mirth. It could have been endearing if she weren't laughing at him. As she began to calm down, she gave him a warm and kind smile that had him wondering what type of witch he was dealing with.

"I'm sorry about that, you just seem much older, and it took me by surprise that you are only seventeen. _Gods,_ you're young." Hermione quirked her lips at him. "The world shifted, indeed. Happiest of birthdays, Tom," she said before staring back at the skies.

His nose flared but he thanked her politely.

"How have you taken to Hogwarts?"

She sighed as she contemplated her answer.

"I can't complain about much. It's very beautiful, but it makes me nostalgic. It somehow reminds me of home. It does get rather lonely. I've only just arrived, but I'll be leaving soon, and everyone else already has their own friends. I miss mine."

"Where are yours?"

She glanced at him, and she seemed smaller than usual as she thought of how to answer him.

"They're someplace where they are resting easy and their lives are uncomplicated and happy. Or, I hope they are."

Somewhere, they heard fireworks go off with her statement, and he looked at her again. There was something radiant about her, and she was witty and intelligent and for a second, he wanted to chase away whatever sadness was dampening her shine and to know what it would be like to receive her affections before those thoughts disappeared.

"Hermione," Tom began. She hummed in response with her eyes closed. "It might be best if you no longer frequent the hallways alone at night."

"And why is that?"

"There may be creatures that you are unaware of roaming the school that could harm you."

"I can handle myself very well, Tom, but thank you for your concern," she retorted.

He warned her. If she wouldn't listen, then that would be her own fault.

They stared at the stars all night until the sun rose, and the brilliant orange of a new day engulfed her. She seemed to glow like a burning ember, and if he got too close, he'd burn. As she got up, she stretched as if she was a kitten. She smiled softly at him.

"Happy New Year, Tom."

"Happy New Year, Hermione."

And again he was struck with the pesky thought of what it would be like to have her affections as his, to make her happy. He crushed it vehemently before it could be anything more than a mere thought.

He attributed it to the fact that it was his birthday and he always felt dizzy, and therefore illogical, with power with each year he grew older.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that I wanted to point out about my characterization of Tom is that I try to still make him out to be a young, adolescent boy in some modem. It irks me when people write about 16/17-year-old who is so incredibly clever, suave, and evil. I completely understand where they're coming from because I was mature as 16/17-year-old and that characterization is accurate but I had my moments of just being an adolescent as well as my maturity, you know? Tom is clever and mature but he's still a boy. So Tom has his moments. He doesn't know the world as well as he thinks he does, yet, and he'll be awkward and just a kid.


	5. Chapter 5

The fourth time he saw her, she had taken another one of his sanctuaries.

Like most things in the orphanage, food was scarce and good food was even scarcer. And so, upon returning to Hogwarts, Tom would often make the most of its luxuries. He frequented the kitchens on nights that he could not sleep and would have the house elves prepare him a small meal.

Discovering the Chamber of Secrets and learning how to control the basilisk inside of it made sleep much more difficult for him to get. The Spring term would begin in the morning, and Tom could finish what his ancestor started by ridding the school of the unworthy filth that attended the school.

Upon entering through the portrait hole that led to the kitchens, however, Tom found Hermione downing a shot of fire whiskey before chasing it with what looked like vanilla ice-cream.

In his fucking space. Again.

He was decidedly irritated with the witch.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glassy, and her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. The coloring suited her.

"Oops," she giggled before vanishing the alcohol. "What a pleasant surprise! I think."

A small house elf approached Tom, and he confirmed his usual order before walking up to the inebriated witch.

"What are you -"

"You know, Tom," she interrupted. "I'm starting to think that you're following me. First the library, then the Astronomy Tower, and now here. Is there something you'd like to say?"

"How much have you had to drink?" he questioned her. She giggled again and shrugged her shoulders.

"That wasn't quite the response I was looking for, but that's fine. I haven't had that much, Tom. How are you, my friend?"

"We're not friends, Hermione, merely acquaintances," he bit out haughtily and ignored her pout in favor of the roast beef and chips that a house elf placed in front of him.

"That hurts, Tom! After the _lovely_ night we shared weeks ago!" She exclaimed petulantly while reaching over to grab a chip. She hissed in pain as Tom shot a wandless Stinging Hex at her hand.

"I don't share."

"You're no fun at all," she sulked but returned to her ice-cream.

"Fine by me," he responded without looking at her and continued eating his meal, disregarding the incessant chattering of the tiny witch.

". . . and you know, I'm kind of inclined to agree that Persephone wasn't tricked to stay with Hades. In addition to being the Goddess of Spring, she became even _more_. The _Destroyer_ of Light! She wasn't all bad but she wasn't all good either, you know? A mixture of _everything_. I don't think she gave up who she was as a person - or is it as a goddess? - to be with Hades but she found something within herself, too. I think she's absolutely admirable . . ."

When she realized Tom wasn't listening to what she was saying, Hermione stopped talking and frowned. He silently watched as she opened another bottle of fire whiskey – where she got it was a mystery to him – and downed it straight from the jug. She smacked her lips a few times before wrinkling her nose. It was cute – mildly.

She started talking again.

"Sleepless night, Tom?"

He didn't respond.

"Are you excited for the new term? _Gods_, I love learning. I've missed it. My brain has been itching, and I've been reading about three books a day during this break. I don't know what I'm going to do when I leave this place. Where will I get all the books?!" she wailed in despair.

He chewed his roast beef slowly but still wouldn't respond. Hermione huffed in annoyance at him and continued taking swigs from the bottle. She finally stopped talking and only drank her whiskey paired with her vanilla ice-cream, the smell of it wafting up to his nose.

Time passed as Tom had finished his meal and moved on to a light dessert. As the small witch became more intoxicated, he watched her eyes become haunted, and her expression became somber. She grew sad, a stark contrast to the bubbliness that she was exuding just moments prior. She stared aimlessly at nothing and seemed almost wistful as she took smaller sips from the bottle. Tom reached across the table and jerked the fire whiskey out of her hand.

She stared at him with indignation, but he interrupted her before she could protest.

"Is everything alright, Hermione?"

"I thought that we weren't friends, Tom. Give me back my fire whiskey."

"Am I not allowed to show concern?"

Hermione snorted. "But that's what _friends_ do, Tom, so I suppose that means you're my friend."

"If that's what you want to call it. I've only seen you a handful of times and it's just me being a good Samaritan. It'd be a shame if you were to ruin my night by blubbering those tears you witches seem to produce on a whim."

"What a Muggle term of you, Tom and what a remarkably sexist comment." She held out her hand for the bottle that he held securely between his thighs. He arched a brow at her, and she lowered her arm before taking another bite out of her ice-cream.

"We're not friends," he repeated.

"You've said so multiple times." Irritation laced her tone. "Now, if we're not friends, please do not concern yourself with my well-being, and _give me back my fucking bottle_."

"You're an alcoholic, _and_ you have a foul mouth," Tom stated with a wrinkle of his nose as he handed the bottle back to her.

"No. I'm trying to forget, and you're interrupting. And my mouth is perfectly fine. You just have a stick up your arse." She took a swig straight from the handle before spooning herself more ice-cream.

"What are you trying to forget?"

"_Again_, Tom, we're not friends as you so kindly put it. Now, you're ruining my mood. Let me drink in peace. I was doing perfectly well until you walked in. I was happy!"

"What if I said that I'm your friend?"

"Then I'd say _bullshit_ because we just argued over what being a friend means, and you, mister, are no friend of mine."

"Hurtful."

"You're quite dramatic, have you noticed?" Hermione commented before rolling her eyes and drinking some more of the fire whiskey. Silence followed her statement, and Tom finished his dessert. Tom stood up and turned to leave.

Right as he was about to walk out, he heard her sigh softly before whispering, "I wouldn't mind being your friend, Tom. I could use some friends at this time."

Tom hesitated at the door, thinking of how to reply. It was nothing poetic, but simple and to the point. "I'll see you around, Hermione. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tom."


End file.
